A career up in smoke

There was an article in the newspaper recently headlined, “Smoking Could Make You Friends.” I noticed it because I’d been thinking the very same thing, just a few days earlier.

The article was about US presidential candidate, Barak Obama. The reporter said that Obama had been quite a heavy smoker, but gave it up at the insistence of his wife, just at the start of his campaign. The author was saying that he should take up the habit again, as it would help him connect with white blue collar voters — a crucial constituency, that he is struggling to win over. Apparently, while smoking has been in rapid decline in the US, it’s still widespread among blue collar folk.

Most of my life I’ve been glad I’ve never been a smoker. Somehow, it just never caught on with me. The first time I tried a cigarette, I hated it, and couldn’t understand how anyone would want to do that again. Later on, when I went out partying I sometimes had the odd puff to get that dizzy feeling, but it always made be feel nauseous too and I always regretted it. And I hated smokers, because the smoky bars and clubs meant my eyes hurt, and I always came home from clubs stinking of stale cigarettes.

When our health minister began banning smoking in public places, I rejoiced. And I still do. It’s much better going out these days — the air is way cleaner than it used to be, and my eyes and clothes (and nose) reap the benefits. I see friends who smoke and how they struggle to give it up, and the toll it takes on their health, and as I say, I’m grateful.

But about a week ago, for the first time ever, I suddenly had cause to regret not ever being a smoker. I was chatting to a friend who’d just moved to Cape Town, and she was saying that she wouldn’t have made any friends there if she hadn’t been a smoker. It was in the stolen moments, huddled in the cold outside with fellow puffers, when she began to forge bonds with her new colleagues. The fact that they all felt like an endangered minority fueled the sense of cameraderie.

And then it hit me. Not being a smoker has harmed my career. I always wondered how I was never up on the gossip, never seemed to meet the people from other departments and floors that others seemed to meet. Never knew quite as much about colleagues’ families and personal lives as some of my co-workers did.

I can’t think why I didn’t realise this before. I guess we all have those things that we just don’t see, when they’re staring us in the face. But the other day the scales fell from my eyes, and I realised that much of this essential networking, gossiping, getting to know who’s who, getting the inside scoop, happens among smokers in the smoking room, on the landing of the fire escape, in the courtyard, as they slip out for their fix. Being a smoker would have given me a valuable opening to talk to and meet new people. And of course I would have picked up on a lot more of the unofficial information and knowledge that’s essential to making your way in the working world. Not that I’ve done badly, but just think of what I could have achieved, had I been addicted to nicotine!

But I don’t feel too bad. I might have missed out on the smoking-room grapevine, but I’ve also escaped cancer, a hacking cough and yellow teeth. Maybe that’s not such a terrible trade-off.

(This first appeared on the Citizen Journalism in Africa site on 21st July, 2008: www.citizenjournalismafrica.org)

Ashamed to be South African

At one time, during the years of apartheid, I used to be ashamed to be a South African. I remember my first ever overseas trip, when I was lucky enough to be part of a student exchange programme with an American university.

I would hate having to tell people I was from South Africa, as the comments or just funny looks would then follow. As a white South African I was considered guilty for apartheid, unless proven otherwise. But it was even worse when the odd person saw my South African-ness as a good thing. I remember cringing when I was travelling long-distance on a Greyhound bus, and during our introductions the person sitting next  to me exclaimed for everyone to hear: “You’re from South Africa! You all are doing the right thing down there!”

Then, there was a time when I was proud to be South African. I was in Kampala in late 1993 for work, and people in the streets and the marketplace would ask where I was from, and then excitedly chat about the upcoming elections set for April 94. During and after the elections, of course there was all the hype and it felt good to come from a country where we were trying and seemingly succeeding to overcome our differences. The wins in the rugby World Cup and soccer Africa Cup of Nations just fed the feeling of pride.

Then over the years we began to realise the ‘miracle’ was more hype than reality, that it would take a long time, and hard work, to redress wrongs, to ensure people had houses, water, and electricity — the basics for a decent life. Our government did many good things, but many things that were not so good. Our economy was growing, but the gap between the rich and poor was widening, there was Aids denialism and so on. Still, we were normal — not much better or worse than most other nations. I could still hold my head up in international company.

Lately, I’m starting to get that uncomfortable ashamed feeling again when I travel. The comments about South Africa are once again either angry or derisory. “Did you see the CNN report on racist white university students torturing black staff?”  “Your president says there’s no crisis in Zimbabwe!”, “Jacob Zuma is going to be your next president — ha ha ha!”, “How could Thabo Mbeki prematurely announce our president’s death?”

The low point came last night, when I was traveling with some Zambian friends in a Lusaka taxi. My friend was asking about the recent xenophobia in South Africa and saying he was worried about his sister who lives in Johannesburg. He was also talking about how he was hijacked when traveling in South Africa, and saying how he always has to watch his back in Johannesburg. I wanted to say things are not all THAT bad. Then over the radio came the news bulletin — with the story that the entire Zambian under-20 soccer team had had its luggage stolen at OR Tambo International airport. I just groaned and hung my head.

(This first appeared on the Citizen Journalism in Africa site on the 17th of July, 2008: www.citizenjournalismafrica.org)

Wild cat poo

Last week I wrote about a report that the number of dollar millionaires in Africa has grown quite rapidly — and the number of those worth over 30 million US dollars has grown even faster.

I wondered how much money one person needs — when you have 10 or 20 or 25 million US dollars, why would you need more? How many meals can you eat, or beds can you sleep in, however luxurious?

Well, this week I found the answer to that question. It came in the form of an article about the world’s most expensive cup of coffee.

You thought you had it bad, with the price of rice and petrol rising in leaps and bounds. Spare a thought for the super-rich, who of course have to have only the best, in keeping with their social status. The best doesn’t come cheap.

The world’s most expensive cup of coffee costs 50 British pounds, for a single espresso. Yes, that is about 97 US dollars, 750 SA rands, just under 340 000 Zambian kwacha,  and I don’t know how many Tanzanian shillings for a teensy weensy itsy bitsy cup of coffee — about two mouthfuls.

This coffee is so expensive because it is a blend of two rare beans. One bean comes from a hard-to-reach mountain top. The other bean is even harder to find. In Indonesia, civet cats like to eat the best ripe coffee beans. They then  digest the fleshy fruit part, and excrete the bean. Workers are then employed to hunt down civet dung, and wash it to reveal the coffee beans. These are then ground up and form part of the fore-mentioned 50-pound espresso.

The poor super-rich. Because of course it’s not just the coffee they have to shell out for. There’s the whole meal that comes before it. And with the world’s most expensive salad on special at 600 British pounds, you can begin to imagine how it all adds up (I won’t mention the main course of prime Japanese beef from cows which have been hand-massaged their entire lives by specially trained masseurs).

So let’s not be angry or resentful or jealous. As you stand at the grocery store till wondering if you have enough money for rice AND chicken, just spare a thought for the ultra-rich, who are paying out small fortunes to drink wild cat poo.

(This first appeared on the Citizen Journalism in Africa site on the 14th of July 2008: www.citizenjournalismafrica.org)

The rich get richer…

Newspaper headlines in South Africa these days report on spiraling inflation, and warn that interest rates could be raised yet again. I’ve lost count of the number of times our Reserve Bank has hiked interest rates, and it’s beginning to take its toll. There are also reports of record numbers of South Africans defaulting on house, car and other payments. Even the banks have started changing their tune — for example, First National Bank has launched a major advertising campaign offering tips on saving money, and explaining that they’re getting tougher on granting credit.

But it’s not bad for everybody. Yesterday’s Business Times lead with the following headline: “SA’s dollar-millionaire club gets bigger, faster”. The story explains that the growth in the number of South Africans with wealth of over a million US dollars was greater than the global average. In South Africa there are now almost 14% more dollar millionaires than there were this time last year. The global average was a 6% increase in dollar millionaires.

In fact the biggest growth in dollar millionaires was in the Middle East, and there are significantly more millionaires in South America too. And lest you think our continent is being left out, South African millionaires weren’t the only ones doing well.  This year there are 10% more dollar millionaires in Africa than there were last year.

That might all be wonderful news, except for the fact that in Africa, unlike almost everywhere else in the world, poverty is increasing, and intensifying. In an era where governments and international organisations have set the goal of halving poverty by 2015, that is shocking. It’s shocking that between 1990 and 2004, the number of Africans living on less than 1 US dollar a day increased by 20%. But it’s worse than that. The number living on less than 50 US cents a day rose by a third during the same period. That means that in sub-Saharan Africa there are now over 121 million people trying to survive on less than 50 US cents a day. At the current exchange rate, that’s the equivalent of about 4 South African rands a day.

Now all this is happening while economies are growing. The rich are getting richer, and the poor, poorer. Economies are growing, but unemployment is increasing. Clearly something is very wrong.

I’m not an economist and don’t have easy answers, but surely we have to question the political and economic leadership of our countries and continent. We also have to look to ourselves. How have we allowed this to happen? In South Africa, are those of us in the middle classes so caught up in the pursuit of material wealth, the latest clothes, and the flashiest cars, that we have been prepared to ignore the increasing misery of our fellow citizens? What can and should we be doing to turn this around?

To give a picture of just how insane this is, the Sunday Times article also mentions that among the ultra-rich — those worth more than 30-million US dollars, the biggest increase was in Latin America, followed by Africa.

Now let’s get real. How much money does any one person need? Let’s say, it’s fine and acceptable to do well and be comfortable, and let’s be very accommodating and say it’s not excessive to have $1 million US dollars. But over $30 million? What do you do with money like that? You can only sleep in 1 bed at night, eat so many meals, drink so much fine wine. What do you do with the rest? What is the point?

Especially when your fellow citizens are spending every waking hour trying to scrape together enough money for just one daily meal.

(This was first posted on the Citizen Journalism in Africa site on June 30th, 2008: www.citizenjournalismafrica.org)

Killing for Zuma

A lot has already been said and written about this in the South African media, but I think it’s important enough for me to add my two-cents’ worth.

On Youth Day, June 16th, Julius Malema, the leader of the ANC Youth League, said at public rally that the youth were prepared to kill for Jacob Zuma — the ANC President and likely next president of South Africa. Zuma himself, who stood up to speak at the same meeting shortyl after Malema, did not publicly rebuke him at the time (though in the subsequent furore he has since criticised the remark).

In the outcry and outrage that followed this remark, Zuma at first defended Malema, and Malema himself refused to apologise, saying he didn’t mean the words literally. Then a few days later, Zwelinzima Vavi, the head of the giant trade union federation, Cosatu, said the organisation’s members would be willing to sacrifice their lives for Zuma.

I am heartened by the widespread outcry over this and the fact that South Africa’s Human Rights Commission has threatened legal action against both Vavi and Malema unless they retract their statements. But I’m deeply, deeply disturbed that the two men do not seem particularly sorry for what they said, and have tried to explain away their remarks, rather than retract them. But whether or not there are retractions and apologies, I’m disturbed that such thing were said at all.

I’m disturbed because I see in this kind of language, strong echoes of the kind of language used by Robert Mugabe. What Zuma and his supporters have in common with Mugabe is that they combine religious references, with a strong sense of menace and threat. Mugabe says only God can remove him from office, for example, while Zuma says the ANC will rule until Jesus returns.

Now, lest I am misunderstood, I’m not saying that Zuma, Malema and Vavi are like Mugabe in anything but their language. Yet. But that ‘yet’ is the crucial word. I am deeply disturbed my these recent statements because they illustrate a way of thinking — an elevation of people and personalities above principle and performance, and a sense that might is right — that they, as leaders, have been placed where they are by God — that they have a divine right to lead, no matter what.

This is deeply undemocratic. We need our elected leaders to understand, without a shadow of a doubt, that they are not placed there by God, but by us, the citizens. They have been elected by us to serve, not to rule. And if and when we feel that they are not serving us in the way we wish to be served, we have the right and the means, to fire them and find somebody else.

The language used by Vavi, Zuma and Malema is worrying because it represents a step, or a few steps, towards a Mugabe. Once you believe you are chosen by God, you soon believe you are entitled to rule and to rule forever. You start to believe that your words and thoughts are God-given, and that you can do anything you want. And you start to believe that your opponents are your enemy, that they’re on the side of evil. And when that happens, human rights disappear, and violence and torture become the order of the day.

As we in South Africa watch the unfolding of events north of the Limpopo we need to urgently look to our own back yard, lest we see a repeat performance in our own land, in 5, 10, 15 or 20 years from now.

(This post appeared on the Citizen Journalism in Africa website on 26th June 2008: www.citizenjournalismafrica.org)